


perennial // spiderlad

by goddess_divine



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, spiderlad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:52:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddess_divine/pseuds/goddess_divine
Summary: college, flowers, and awkward outreaches. all with a heavy sprinkling of gay culture.





	1. geraniums

Peter groggily rose to the sound of chirping birds and a ray of sunlight hitting his fluttering eyelids directly. He opens his eyes only to squeeze them shut, his nose scrunched at the unpleasant wake up call. One hand reaches swiftly to cover his eyes while the other fumbles blindly onto his bedside table and pulls his phone from the charger. 

He rolls over onto his side and opens his phone. The time blinks 8:59 a.m., it's a solid time to wake up. It's a Sunday, which allows Peter to sleep in a bit more than usual, since he opens the shop at 10 on Saturdays and Sundays, opposed to the early 7 a.m. weekdays. His thumb instinctively runs over the crack on the bottom left side of the phone, a crack that he insists doesn't know how it got there, even if he knows the fateful story of him wheely-ing throughout the shop and snagging a floor tile while recording it on his phone for his co-worker and friend MJ. 

He scrolls through social media for about ten minutes and catches up on everything he missed throughout his sleep. He tosses the phone on a pillow before slipping out of bed. He stands and stretches with a soft yawn, his navy shirt slipping above his belly button. The navy blue shirt that definitely does not match the orange, plaid boxers he dons as pajamas. 

Peter approaches the window, looking outside. He could've gotten a few extra minutes of sleep, but his past self enjoyed the refreshing breeze of a cool summer night air too much to close the window or blinds. He looks outside to the city below him, and his small flowers perched on his apartment window. The red geraniums were growing in beautifully, as the temperatures were peak for blooming. He smiles as he looks at the flowers. He had just watered them again yesterday and they were supposed to be allowed time to dry out between each water, so no maintenance required. 

Peter moved to the wall to look at his succulents and his cactus. When he first moved in, he placed a medium sized plant holder on his wall next to his desk. It held three succulents and one cactus, all of which he named of course. He waters these every Sunday, as they were meant to every week. Peter was fed up with having wet towels sit on his floor to catch the water drainage from the plants after watering, and recently modified the holder to have all of the excess water drip into a funnel to be reused. All he had to do was unscrew an old milk jug from the funnel and pour it back onto the plants when watering. 

After finishing maintenance on his plants, his top priority and mainly the only thing on his mind when he moves to wake up in the morning, Peter decides it's time to actually start getting ready for work. Having woken up almost half an hour ago by now, he's happily awake and ready to face the world. 

He steps out of his room into the hallway, and then into the bathroom. The apartment was tiny, with only one bedroom, one bathroom, and an open floor living room that connects to the kitchen, but it was all that Peter ever needed. He wasn't living with anyone else, and rarely had more than three people over at a time. While finding places for storage was tough, it made Peter realize that he didn't need a lot of the stuff he brought with him while moving, and became somewhat of a minimalist. Plus, rent was cheap. Which made his life a lot easier during the grueling college years. Peter Parker - plant science major and dork extraordinaire.

Once he steps into the bathroom, he cringes at the sight of the unruly curls perched on top of his head. He prays that he has enough time to take a quick shower as he starts to undress and get in. The water is cold today, as it normally is. His neighbor is unpredictable in when they're using the shower, so many days Peter has been sprayed with icy water as he showers. He doesn't mind now as much as he did back then, and slightly adopted the idea of cold showers. 

After breezing through the necessary hygienic routines, Peter stops back in his room to pick an outfit for the day, and grabbed his phone. The clock on his desk read 9:32 a.m., which was plenty of time for Peter. He picked a plain grey shirt and a nice sweatshirt to go above, just in case he got cold. He threw on some worn skinny jeans and grabbed his phone to stick in his back pocket. 

As he was passing the bathroom on his way to the kitchen, he assessed the situation with his curls. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times before giving up and moving on to the kitchen. 

Peter had a big sugar tooth. No doubt about it. Candies stuffed in cupboards and wrappers found on his bedroom floor, he always had a craving for sweets. Which is why he loved sugary cereals. He reached for the cereal, neatly packed away in containers labeled with his favorites, before retracting his hand. Today was Sunday after all. 

Ned Leeds, Peter's best friend, co-worker, computer science major, and all around idiot, had lost a bet about two weeks ago. The joke was that he couldn't get into a Dunkin Donuts mainframe in under a minute, and - with a startling amount of confidence, Ned proceeded to sit at his computer desk chair and ask for the countdown.

He lost. And now buys everyone on a Sunday shift donuts for the next month.

Peter closes the cupboard door and decides that getting to work a few minutes early wasn't the worst thing. He sticks his phone back in his pocket and moves to his entryway, wear his shoes lay on a small mat. There are two pairs currently out now, some tennis shoes and white keds. Well, maybe a bit more scuffed now, as they were his favorite pair. He slipped them on and walked out the door. 

Petite Fleur Grand Monde was a small, corner flower shop that Peter's aunt, Aunt May, owned. And situated only five minutes away from his apartments. While the actual shop was small, it didn't mean that the business was. It was actually pretty widespread over the area. He was proud of his aunt for starting such a prestigious and well praised shop, especially since she originally started it with his Uncle Ben with help and support from his own parents. 

Just handling young Peter after his parent's deaths and the shop seemed an impossible feat for Peter's aunt to do, but once she had to do it alone…Peter gained the utmost respect for the woman. He had no clue how she could juggle it all.

Weaving in and out of people on the sidewalks, Peter walked down to the flower shop with plenty of time to spare. Swerving around the corner, he saw the pretty decor of flowers lining the front door. The displays outside of the store were usually handled by Aunt May, and it was no doubt that she had immense talent. This month, the door was lined with pretty pinks and soft whites, hand picked and specially cared for by the owner herself. 

Peter twisted the handle. Unfortunately, he left his lanyard that held his keys at home, but he saw Ned's car in the alley by the shop, so he assumed he would be fine. The door popped right open, and he pushed himself inside. 

The air inside of the shop was always cooler than the outside because of the constant misting of the flowers. It smelled decadent; the smell of plants always reminding Peter of home and the hours he spent in here, either as a young child or working longer shifts. 

"Ned!" Peter sing-songed. He heard some shuffling, then a faint call of "In the back!" 

Peter made a beeline for the room. The floor seemed to have already been swept. How long has Ned been here? It's 9:49 and about half of the before-store-opening chores had been done already. It was unlike him...especially since he usually made Peter do most of them.

When he pushed open the door to the back, he saw Ned bent over, shoveling through boxes of ribbons for the bouquets. 

"Ned." 

He stood upright hastily, "Huh?" Ned looked at Peter in a groggy daze.

Peter leaned against the door frame while surveying the scene, because damn this place really needed to be reorganized. There were boxes full of...stuff piled everywhere. "How long have you been here?" 

"Not long, why?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. He played with the ribbons he had, seemingly counted them. "Oh, and the donuts are sitting on the stool by box of gloves." Wow. This place really is cluttered.

Peter nodded. "I mean, you got here earlier than me and mostly everything is done before opening." 

"Your aunt swung around, if that's what you're wondering."

Peter nodded again. He figured so. His aunt was a workaholic when it came to this place. So much that it sometimes worried Peter. He pushed himself off of the frame, "Well, I'mma go steal one or two donuts."

Ned laughed. "Okay, man." 

Peter did exactly what he said: found some donuts, plunked himself down in front of the cash register, put his feet up on the desk, and scrolled through his phone.

MJ arrived a few minutes after Peter finished his second donut. He spotted her as she tended to the new, summer flowers sitting in the first row. 

"Oh hey Mj." 

"Hey, Pete," she said, not even looking up from trimming the stems. Mj was like that. Though, Ned and Peter never minded it. Her analytical personality was...endearing. Peter once joked that "she just had a different love language," during a lunch break. 

She retreated to the back with Ned after everything seemed adequate enough for her. Peter didn't mind staying at the front alone, in fact, this position was his favorite. The three switched off every week in the positions they had made for themselves: heavy loading, unpacking and restocking, and the cashier. 

Peter had done the heavy loading last week, and surprisingly, that wasn't his least favorite. Unpacking and restocking was such a bore, and left so much time to do….nothing. And when there is stuff? Suddenly it's at the end of your shift and you stay later than you intended to (which has made Peter late to at least four classes already). Unsurprisingly, Peter's arms and thighs got a workout every time he unloaded something. Especially with Aunt May ordering glass vases (damn you Aunt May and your heavy, heavy glass vases).

Peter sighed and checked his watch. 10:30 a.m. "Oh shit!" Peter got up and rushed to the door. He had forgotten to unlock it and flip the sign to say it was open. Luckily, no one needed flowers during the short half hour.

It felt like the bell on the door chimed as soon as Peter sat down from moving the "closed" sign to "open". A young, lanky man stumbled into the shop. To say he looked like a mess was the understatement of the year. A full on trainwreck as he tore up the shop. He was a hurricane of hurried energy.

With his hands desperately clutching his hair, he stalked through the aisles as he muttered to himself. Peter uncrossed his legs from the desk and walked over to him. Slowly, as if Peter was afraid of startling the disheveled man, he tapped his arm. 

"Excuse me? Do you need help finding anything?"

And that's when he looks up, and Peter can actually get a good look at his face. 

The man was Harley Keener, one of the brightest minds and most gorgeous boys on campus. 

And Peter's biggest crush.


	2. chapter two: polyanthas

Harley Keener didn't plan on waking up at 8:59 a.m. this Sunday morning. In fact, he planned quite the opposite. 

 

He went (or, to be truthful, tried and failed) to go to bed early that night. He ended up getting distracted by his upcoming engineering project. It was eating away with him and then he finally found out why a part wasn't working and after that….he couldn't stop himself.

 

Harley was studying to be a biomedical engineer.  He was always into engineering, but he also wanted to be a doctor. He was conflicted for a while, until he learned about biomedical engineering and that it was open at the college of his dreams. It would've been a mistake if he threw away his shot at the perfect opportunity.

 

Anyway, the project had kept him awake all night. 

 

"I mean, three hours of sleep isn't that bad?" He thought to himself that entire morning. The bags under his eyes and his sunken cheeks begged to differ. 

 

But here he was, rushing around his room, trying to get ready and find a somewhat presentable outfit. His room was cluttered, as any sleep deprived scientists room is. Especially since his room was right next to the garage where him and his roommate kept all of their projects.

 

Cassie Lang, the aforementioned roommate, was an art major. That meant that there was sputtering machines and paintings all over the garage. The light always seemed to be on, and someone was always working. Two tortured artists wracking their mind for solutions to problems they faced with their work. Sadly, that also meant there were two tortured cars sitting out in the driveway.

 

"I left those slacks somewhere!" He's muttering to himself, a habit he picked up from some mechanic he worked with as a kid.

 

Today was important. Well, not for him, but his little sister. He was close with her. She was practically a shining ball of light and innocence. Even at the ripe old age of seventeen (which seemed way too old for him, it's almost as if she was nine yesterday). And today, she had her first Julliard audition recitals. He was extremely proud of her, and just couldn't turn down the invitation she gave to him. It was one, large synchronized dance with the other ballerinas to see who would actually be accepted - or better yet - receive a scholarship to attend. It was the first phase in the many auditions and recitals she would have to go through.

 

This was why he had wanted to wake up much earlier than he had. The plan was to get up early, shower, eat a full breakfast, and get flowers. He would have to speed up that process and cut a few things out. The recital was at ten thirty, but the theatre was on the other side of town, where his family lived. They had all moved from Rose Hill, Tennessee to support him in going to his dream college. He lived with them for barely two months before receiving an offer from Cassie to come live with her. 

 

Harley ran up the stairs of the small house that was located near the homeowners' attending college. Most people had to rent the crappy dorms close by, but Cassie's family was pretty rich. Most of the people in the family were molecular physicists. Her grandparents were retired now, her mom worked at the family owned company (Pym Industries), and her dad worked at a prison rehabilitation center. Even though her dad, Scott Lang, wasn't that involved in molecular physics or worked at the family company, he knew a great deal about it.

 

To sum it up, Cassie's family had money and Harley was happy to be friends with her. 

 

First, Harley ran to the kitchen and shoved a slice of bread into the toaster. Then, he slid through the kitchen into the living room. Wearing only dress socks, underwear, and a half-buttoned dress shirt with a loose tie around his neck, he stood behind the couch. 

 

Cassie was sitting there, notebook in hand, taking notes off of the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Her earbuds in to make sure she caught everything said. 

 

She pulled out one from her right ear, and - without looking up - spoke. "What do you need?" It was monotone. 

 

Cassie had been tense lately due to a large exam coming up, so other than these early mornings and late nights she's been pulling, Cassie was a lovely girl. 

 

"Well, good morning to you, too…" Harley feigned offence. He continued, "I can't find my dress slacks."

 

"You ironed them a week ago and left them hung up in the closet with the ironing board, claiming that 'they would stay ironed in there,' and that 'you would remember that they were in the closet if you left them there'." 

 

"Oh, right!" He spun around immediately and ran to the closet that held the desired pants. Cassie only put her earbuds back in and returned her full attention to the notebook. 

 

He opened the closet door and saw the pants dangling there. Harley snatched them off of the hanger, leaving it to clatter to the ground. He shoved the door shut, not giving it any attention. Running back to the kitchen, he started tugging on one pant leg, hopping around on his left foot. The other pant leg dragged on the floor while he smeared butter on the slightly burnt piece of bread. He threw the butter back into the fridge, and stuck the piece of toast in his mouth. 

 

Stumbling back through the living room to the stairs while tugging on the other pant leg while a piece of toast was in his mouth truly was something straight out of a corny eighties movie. 

 

He zipped his fly before running hastily down the stairs to his room. Once there, he shoved the rest of his "breakfast" down his gullet, buttoned the needed buttons on his shirt, and tightened his tie. Harley looked around for his belt after doing one last glance in the mirror. 

 

Disheveled hair, clothes, and eyes were what stared back at him...and the soft shine of a silver belt buckle strewn over the desk chair. 

 

"Aha!" He spun around, snatched it, and buckled it. He stared at the suit jacket that had sat underneath it. He debated for about two seconds, then tucked it underneath his armpit. 

 

He looked at the messy desk. Different electronics and books were thrown about, and looked like it hadn't been dusted in years (which would be true). Harley grabbed his wallet and his phone from the charger.

 

He looked at the clock, only one digit was showing. Brushing away the objects obscuring the clock, it read 9:30 a.m. 

 

"Shit, shit, shit," Harley muttered to himself. He rushed to the door that opened to their workshop, not even bothering to close his own. He grabbed a pair of dress shoes that sat on the stairs, and tugged them on hastily. The last thing he grabbed were his keys that hung from a hook by the door. With that, he ran out into the garage, practically slamming the door behind him. 

 

The garage had several desks and benches, all of them full with different projects. In the corner, sat one plant. It was dead, and had been sitting there for months now, since neither of the roommates knew how to take care of it. Both of them thought that if they left it in the garage, it would be much easier to remember that it was meant to be watered. They had just picked a shrub that looked nice, thinking that it couldn't be that hard to take care of. An old cup sat next to it. It was meant to be for watering the plant, and was supposed to be full at all times, but it was dry now. They probably watered it once. 

 

The old hinges on the garage doors squealed after he slapped the garage door opener. He ran through the workshop and ducked under the doors before they were even fully open. Harley rushed to his car and swung the door open.

 

Harley was blessed to even have a car, but that didn't mean this one wasn't a rust bucket. It was an old, silver 2004 Nissan Altima, that's previous owner ate too much greasy food. He felt the rumble of the car as the engine sputtered to life. He pulled out of the driveway, and sped off.

 

Harley zipped down roads, and at every stop, checked the clock with worried glances. Although any other sane person would know that he had a good amount of time, he still couldn't help but feel worried. He would officially be named the worst brother of the year, something that Harley Keener never wanted to hear from his beloved sister.

 

His radio was broken, so he spent the drive in his own head, surrounded by silence. The silence felt buzzed with his own adrenaline, though. The electric feeling of worry seemed to hover around him, and he was sure others knew because of his awful driving that was definitely over the speed limits. 

 

About ten minutes away from the studio, Harley saw a small flower boutique on the side of the road. 

 

"Shit!" Harley remembered that he wanted to buy some flowers for his little sister, and made a semi-illegal turn into the parking spaces out front. 

 

After parking like an asshole (crooked and almost taking up two spaces), Harley jumped out of his car and ran inside.

 

Running his fingers through his hair, he looked up and down the aisles. He paid no attention to the small boy who sat by the counter, too wrapped up in his own head. Bending over slightly, he looked at the flowers. There were little labels on them, naming what they were and their scientific name.

 

"What the hell even are these?" Harley thought to himself. He swore he hadn't heard of even half of the flowers labeled on this shelf alone. 

 

He shot up to his full height when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and heard a timid voice. 

 

"Excuse me? Do you need help finding anything?" The boy spoke. 

 

Harley looked at him, and the boy looked back. If anything, he'd say that the boy looked bewildered. He wondered if the small blush was always there. 

 

"Uh, yeah...um…" Harley coughed and rose to full height, suddenly nervous. The boy looked familiar. Harley looked at his name tag. "Yeah...Peter." He said as if he was trying out the name on his tongue. 

 

His hand shot to the back of his neck. "I need flowers."

 

Peter looked as if he was biting back a laugh. "Well, obviously. What kind?" 

 

Harley blanked. What kind of flowers? He didn't even think. He just knew flowers would be a good idea. 

 

Uh, uh, uh…."Roses…?" Nice one, dipshit.

 

"You seem uncertain," Peter grinned. 

 

"I don't know!" His voice was humorous, but shy. He felt embarrassed, this guy probably knew every flower that ever existed and here he was, acting like a fool. Harley was never a fool. He was a charmer, someone who was always slick and could convince anyone to do nearly anything. Why did he feel so small?

 

"Okay," Peter's voice was soothing. "Follow me, I'll show you our selections."

 

Harley followed him like a lost puppy through the aisle into the next. Gorgeous bouquets and batches of different roses laid out on the shelves, wrapped in recyclable covering and some tied with cute strings and ribbons. 

 

"Who are you buying them for?"

 

"My little sister. It's a big day for her." Harley grinned shyly. 

 

"Aw! How lovely. How old is she?" Peter played with the sleeves on his sweater, which fell over his knuckles to create little paws. 

 

"She's seventeen, but it's ballet auditions for Julliard. It's a pretty big deal for her and I thought that roses would be nice."

 

Harley decided that Peter had one of the prettiest grins. 

 

"That's amazing! You must be really proud." Peter started to reach for different flowers, all while talking in a warming voice. 

 

"I really am." Harley looked around the shop for a clock, praying that he wouldn't be late. Talking to Peter had made him slow down a bit, but the worry settled in again. 

 

Peter perked up before running away with a bright smirk, as if he'd had the most perfect idea. He came back minutes later with a small batch of pink and white flowers. 

 

"The perfect ensemble of flowers that portray innocence, admiration, and grace. All with a pretty pink, fit for a ballerina."

 

Harley was stunned. It was perfect. "I, thank you so much. It's perfect."

 

Peter grinned again. "Why thank you."

 

Harley felt himself smile dumbly in response.

 

"Well, you look like you're in a hurry so I won't keep you any longer." Peter move towards the register, setting the flowers on the counter. 

 

Harley checked his phone. It was nine fifty-eight. He had about fifteen minutes to get there if he wanted to seem punctual. The drive was about another ten minutes. 

 

"Bouquets are thirty percent off this month, so your total is fourteen dollars even." 

 

Harley fumbled with his wallet for a moment before slapping a twenty on the counter, and grabbing the roses.

 

"Keep the change." With that, he turned, and left. 

 

A faint, and slightly confused, "have a nice day," followed Harley out the door. He felt bad for leaving like that. 

 

He quickly got into his car, threw flowers in the passenger seat (to which he winced), and drove away.


End file.
